Bobby and Sam
by clair beaubien
Summary: Wee-Chester story: Dean's sick, John's sleeping - guess who's watching Sammy?
1. Chapter 1

Don't get me wrong, I like kids. Kids can be funny and smart and smart-ass and droll and innocent and all-knowing, and all without meaning to be. But the best thing of all about kids is that there's always somebody else looking after them. Parents, babysitters, teachers, aunts.

_Big brothers._

So the best thing about kids is that when I don't know what else to do with them, I can send them back where they came from.

No such luck this time.

John Winchester showed up at my door with a short apology and a really sick kid. Dean had a fever and a headache and the way he was looking flushed and lethargic and letting himself be carried at his Dad's shoulder even though he was eight, worried me.

What worried me too was the thought of little Sammy on the loose in my house with no big brother to look after him. I liked the kid, he was quiet and polite and knew not to touch things. But I'd never had to look after him. Things might change if I had to look after him.

Turned out I didn't need to worry. Sammy stayed up in the room with John and Dean. The few times I went by, to ask if they needed anything, to see how Dean was doing, to bring some food up for them, Sammy was in his Dad's lap in the chair next to the bed while Dean slept, or curled on the bed next Dean while they both slept, or on his hands and knees in a corner of the room, playing quiet war with little green soldiers while Dean was awake and John was tending to him.

The last time I went past, it was late, past dark. John was sitting stretched out on the bed, with Dean held against his chest, both sound asleep. Sammy was in the chair, reading quietly out loud to himself, out of some kids' book he had open on his lap. I think maybe he wasn't _exactly _reading out of the book, because the words he was saying weren't exactly making story sense.

He looked up at me when I stopped in the doorway, but he didn't say anything.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Dean always reads me a story first."

"I don't think he's gonna be reading you a story tonight."

Sammy sighed and his lower lip stuck out and his little stocking feet swished back and forth.

"He doesn't feel good. Daddy said to not to talk too loud or jump on the bed or ask a lotta questions on a 'cause a' Dean should needs to sleep."

Well, Sammy didn't say _he _needed anything, so -

"So - you're gonna read yourself a story and go to bed?"

"Uh hunh."

"Okay. You go ahead and do that, then. I'll see you in the morning."

I went downstairs and had myself a nice, quiet evening.

For about fifteen minutes, and I heard little footsteps walking down my staircase.

I waited for Sammy to appear in the library, but the next sound I heard was a kitchen chair being dragged across the kitchen floor and then my kitchen sink turned on.

"What're you doin'?" I asked after I walked into the kitchen and found Sammy standing on a chair at the sink, drinking water out of a cup.

"Havin' water 'fore I go t'bed." He answered, sounding breathless after his swallow.

"Ooookay." I didn't point out to him the bathroom sink right across the hall from their room. _Upstairs_. "You done then? You going to bed now?"

"Uh hunh." He put the glass in the sink and climbed down and pushed the chair back up to the table. "G'night."

And then he trundled himself back up the stairs to bed and I watched him boost himself up each step to the top and then scuff himself down the hallway.

I never had any kids, and the way things turned out in my life, I was usually happy that was the case.

_Usually_.

So, I went back to my davenport and my newspaper and beer.

And a few minutes later, I heard those footsteps down my stairs again and Sammy came into the library carrying his book. He stopped right in front of me.

"Thought you were goin' to bed?" I asked him.

He nodded, but asked,

"Do you know how t'read?"

"I've had some experience."

"Will you read me the story?"

He lifted the book towards me and gave me those sad, hoping eyes that for the rest of his life would make just about anybody do just about anything.

"Uh - yeah. Sure. One story and then bedtime. Okay?"

He nodded. Like his head was on springs.

"Okay." I took the book from him. "C'mon up and have a seat and we'll get this done."

I opened the book and flipped past the credits to the opening page of the story and expected Sammy to climb up on the davenport.

But he didn't.

I looked at him over the book, and when I did, he lifted his arms up to me. I never had kids but even I recognized the universal sign for '_lift me up'_

_"Uhh..." _

And he dialed up the watts on those eyes and I was a goner.

"Okay, sure. C'mon."

I lifted him up, meaning to set him next to me only he somehow managed to plunk himself right where he wanted and I found myself with a lapful and armful of little Sammy Winchester. And like a professional, he right away boogeyed himself into the exact spot so he could rest his head on my chest and his ear over my heart and still be upright.

It took me a few beats or so to get used to the feeling of having a little person snuggling up in my arms, warm and comfortable and content, and it was a nice feeling. A really nice feeling. When I was pretty sure my voice would hold, I started reading the story.

We were only a few pages in when Sammy yawned and snuggled a little more and patted my chest.

_"Uncle Bobby, I like you."_

And damn if somehow a whole bunch of dust didn't up and get in my eyes right then.

_"I like you too, Sammy."_

_

* * *

_

A/N: you can find more of this story at my homepage (the link to which can be found on my fanfic dot net homepage.)


	2. Chapter 2

I woke up to something weird.

Now, I've woken up to a lot of weird things, but this out-weirded even the weirdest: I woke up to a little voice singing a little song, I think '_Dinah Blow Your Horn'_. And to weird the weird - the quiet little voice was coming from a warm little body snuggled up in my lap.

_Sammy. _

Little Sammy was curled into my lap, and my arms were holding him close, and he was singing to himself.

I blinked my eyes to be sure I was awake and sure enough, there we were the two of us, still on the davenport. It was still dark outside, so at least we hadn't been here all night.

"Uncle Bobby? Who's Ray?"

"How'd you know I was awake?" I asked. I hadn't moved or said anything.

"'Cause you -." He took a sharp inhale and held it. "And then you -." He let the breath out. Explaining it like it was any day a four year old could read signals like that. "Uncle Bobby, who's Ray?"

"Ray? I don't know any Ray."

"He gots the boat."

"Boat?"

"Yeah, he rows the boat."

"You mean Michael?" I asked him. "The guy who rows the boat ashore?"

"No. Ray." He said it like it was the last word. He reached forward and - for no good reason I could see - he tugged on his toes.

"You need your socks off?"

"No."

"Then why're you tugging on your foot?"

He shrugged, "_I dunno_," and turned those mega- watt eyes on me and looked my face all over like he was looking for clues.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

He didn't get the joke. He just kept going.

"Uncle Bobby? Where's your kids?"

"My kids?"

"Yeah. Don'ts you got any kids?"

I cocked an eyebrow at the little stowaway on my lap.

"_Not usually._"

He still wasn't getting the joke. He just looked at me like my not having kids was something he couldn't wrap his mind around.

"But- don't you gots anybody to talk to? Er'who do you gots to sleep next t'you when you can't sleep? N'who - who - don'ts you got anybody who draw you pictures n'you holds their hand onna 'cause a'there's traffic?" He was looking actually distressed. "How come you don'ts got kids?"

"How come you ask so many questions?" I asked back.

"'Cause I do." He answered me, his little forehead scrunched up like I'd asked him a stupid question only he couldn't figure out why.

"Hmm." Was all the answer I gave him. He didn't push it.

He looked around the room, the one lamp on, the fire died down in the fireplace, all the books. Just as I was getting ready to send him off to his bed so I could get to my own, he turned those eyes on me again, all innocent and overpowering.

"Uncle Bobby? Do you likes cookies?"

I might never have had kids, but even _I_ could see where this was headed.

"I've been known to partake."

He nodded and tugged his toes and looked around.

"Aren't you tired?" I asked him. I sure was.

"No." He answered with a shrug. "Uncle Bobby? When you eats cookies, do you ever have _milk _when you eats cookies?"

I laughed. I _had _to laugh at this half-pint lawyer trying to bring me around to offering him cookies and milk, and make me think it was all my idea. He didn't ask what I was laughing at, he just kept looking at me, like he could _will _the idea into my head. For that alone, the kid deserved a cookie.

"So, Sammy," I asked when I stopped laughing. "You think maybe I could interest you in having a cookie?"

"Okay." He answered, like he was doing me the favor. Then with shins across my knees and an elbow in my gut, he climbed down off my lap and stood waiting for me to stand up and get moving.

"So, what kind of cookies do you like?" I asked him as we walked out to the kitchen and I flicked on the light.

"I like the kind _you _got."

"Oh?" I was pretty sure he hadn't had a look in my cupboards. "And what kind have I got?" But he didn't miss a beat.

"The kind you gots t'eat with milk."

I laughed again. If I talked with this kid much longer, I'd end up signing the house over to him.

"Yep, that's exactly the kind of cookies I've got."

"Yeah."

He boosted himself into a chair, up on his knees so he could see over the table, and waited, watching me.

I don't have a lot of experience with kids, but until I met the Winchesters boys, I thought all kids were noise and mess and movement, always underfoot and whining and fighting with each other. These two though, they stuck to each other like glue, at least when Dean wasn't upstairs sick and asleep. They were quiet when they were around grown ups, and patient like a lot of grown ups could learn from them.

And real real polite.

I set a napkin of two Oreo cookies and a cup of milk on the table, but Sammy didn't dig in right away like I thought he would. He said, "Thank you," then he kept watching me.

"What?" I asked.

"Aren't you gonna have any? Cookies? Uncle Bobby?"

"I wasn't planning on it."

And he thought and he puzzled and he worried. He looked from his cookies to the cupboard I took the cooies out of, and then he looked at me.

"_You can have one of mine_." He offered, pulling the napkin in my direction.

For that, he could _have _the house if he wanted it.

"No, thanks. Those two cookies are for you. I don't want any, right now."

He nodded and said, "Thank you," again and shoved one whole cookie in his mouth. Then a gulp of milk.

"Uncle Bobby? Why does Ray have a boat?"

"I don't know who Ray is."

"He rows d'boat."

The second cookie disappeared, then the last of the milk. Sammy wiped his mouth and his hands with the napkin, got off the chair, threw out the napkin, set the cup in the sink, then looked at me like he was waiting for me to decide what to do next.

"You tired?" I asked again. It was close to two in the morning.

"No."

"'No'. Great. So - now what?"

"Umm..." He really delivered it, looking like he actually had to think about it. "You could read me another story..." Saying it again like he was doing me the favor by coming up with the idea, and I had a vision of a shaggy-haired preschooler walking off with my house _and _my car.

Before those eyes finished their magic though, I was saved from handing over the keys by John showing up in my kitchen.

"Sammy - what're you still doing up?"

John sounded stern, but true to form, Sammy didn't seem to notice.

"_Daddy_!" He flung himself at his Daddy's legs and squeezed hard. "Daddy! Daddy!"

"Yeah, 'Daddy'." John scooped him up in his arms. "I asked - what're you still doing up?"

"I had a glass of water and Uncle Bobby asked did I want a cookie."

I was ready to believe it was all my fault, and I'd been here. I wondered what John would say. Turned out he was more than a little familiar with Sammy's tactics.

"Oh? He came up with that idea all by himself, did he? Or did you maybe start talking about them first?"

Sammy considered a half a second then flung his little arms around his Daddy's neck.

"_I love you, Daddy_!"

"Yeah, that's what I thought." But John wrapped his arms tight around Sammy. "_I love you, too, kiddo_. Thanks for watching him, Bobby." He added to me. "Sorry if he bothered you."

"Nah, no bother. We had ourselves an interesting conversation. He was asking about some fella named 'Ray'?"

"Ray? I don't think I know any Ray."

"Said he owns a boat?"

"No." John shook his head. "That's no one I know of. Well, I'm gonna go put Sammy to bed. Give you back what's left of your night."

"He said he's not tired." I told John. He smiled and turned enough for me to see Sammy, just like that dead sound asleep on his Daddy's shoulder.

"He'll tell you he's not tired until _you _collapse from exhaustion. Y'gotta _tell him _he's tired." He turned a kiss onto the shaggy head. "'Night, Bobby. Thanks again for watching him."

He left the kitchen, carrying his prize, and went up the stairs.

I took myself to bed, not sure that I was still happy that I never had kids.'

The End

Coming Soon: Bobby overhears Dean and Sammy talking in the kitchen the next morning.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry, I lied. Dean isn't in this one. I tried to wake him up and send him downstairs with Sammy, but he was still too tired to get up. So, Sammy gets to spend some more time with Bobby. Eventually, Dean will be there in a future chapter.

* * *

I was back at my desk early the next morning, watching weather reports and reading newspapers, looking for intel for a few hunters out on some jobs. I'd had me about an hour of a nice, quiet morning, coffee and solitude, when I heard some familiar feet padding down my stairs.

Sammy.

On his own again.

I was probably gonna have to make him some breakfast. Sit with him while he was eating it or some such nonsense like that. Afterward, I'd probably have to read him another story, ply him with cookies and have him snuggle up in my lap all warm and content, turning those big trusting eyes on me and telling me he likes me.

Well, if I had to, I had to. Not much else to be done about it.

I'd just stood up when Sammy appeared in my library doorway. He stopped sudden and stared at me, like he hadn't been expecting to see me there. He was wearing the clothes he'd had on the night before, jeans and a long sleeve shirt, only they were undone and pulled on over his PJ's. His feet were bare.

Guess he dressed himself.

"Hey, Sammy. You're up bright and early. You want some -."

I was about to offer him breakfast but got stopped dead in my tracks by the big tear that rolled down his face and latched onto a quivering lower lip and hung there a minute.

"What's wrong?" I walked over to him and crouched down. "What happened?" I hadn't heard any commotion upstairs, I didn't think Dean could be worse.

Sammy took in three sharp breaths of air without seeming to let any back out again, and more tears flowed down his face.

"_D-d-dean told me 'go 'way'." _He whispered it like it was too awful to say out loud. "He told me - he told me - _'go 'way'._"

"Dean's sick. He just needs some more rest. He didn't mean it."

"_Uh unh."_ Sammy used both hands to scoop away the tears that were puddling on his face and split-splatting loud on my floor. Each breath in and out was a sob. "Dean told me '_go 'way.'_ Dean _never _told me '_go 'way.'_"

Poor kid. If his heart wasn't broken already, it was halfway there. He was too young to know that what big brothers said when they were sick and tired didn't count. He didn't know that his world really _wasn't_ falling apart.

"Where's your Daddy?" I asked him.

"_Daddy sleeping."_ He scooped more tears off his face.

"All right, Sammy. Everything's gonna be all right. C'mon, let me make you some breakfast. How about that? We'll let Dean and your Daddy sleep some more, and me and you can have breakfast. What d'you say?"

He only squeezed his eyes shut and balled up his fists and coughed out his sobs like the heartbreak was enough to kill him.

"_I want Dean._" He said. His voice was high pitched, a keen more than a complaint. If he kept this up, I was liable to start bawling right along with him. I knew what it was like to not have the person you loved and needed most in the world right with you. Put on the shoulders of an exhausted three or four year old, it had to be agony.

"I know you do, Sammy. And as soon as Dean's feeling better, he'll be right here with you again. But for right now, let's get you something to eat. Okay? What d'you like to eat for breakfast? You like pancakes?"

He looked at me and hiccupped a sob and shrugged one shaking shoulder.

"_S-s-sometimes."_

"How about right now?"

He scooped more tears and hiccupped again.

"Does you puts ch-ch-chocolate chips in them?"

Well, I was out of chocolate chips that particular year, but fortunately, I had me a backup plan.

"_Anybody_ can put chocolate chips in pancakes." I told him. "_I _put a _Hershey's Bar_ in mine."

His face lit up in wonder and awe.

"_A whole Hershey Bar?"_

"Yep. A whole Hershey Bar. What d'you say? That sound like a good breakfast?"

"_Uh hunh."_ He nodded and scrubbed more than scooped at his tears, so maybe they were coming to an end.

"Great. C'mon, let's get those started."

I straightened up and took a step toward the kitchen, thinking Sammy would follow along with me. But I'd only just taken that step and I felt a damp, warm, tiny little hand slip into mine. I looked down at Sammy, and looked up at me, like he was wondering what I was wondering about.

We were only going to walk from near the staircase over to the kitchen, it wasn't like there was gonna be traffic or a sudden flood or anything, there wasn't any need to keep hold of him. But damn if that little hand holding onto mine didn't feel kinda nice, so I held tight and we walked to the kitchen.

"Okay. Grab a seat and we'll get this chuck wagon rolling."

I let go of his hand and headed for the cupboards to pull out the supplies for Hershey pancakes. I figured he'd boost himself into a chair like he did when he was sounding me out for cookies in the wee hours of the morning. But I turned from cupboard to fridge and saw him still standing there in the middle of the kitchen floor. And he was looking kinda lost.

"Take a seat." I told him again. I pulled a chair out for him to make my point, then turned back to pancake duty, measuring the mix, mixing the batter, breaking up the Hershey Bar.

I was just about ready to start cooking when I felt something - some_one_ - latch onto my leg. There was Sammy, both arms around my leg, leaning up against me, holding on hard. It was nice to feel him hold onto me like that, but I couldn't get any work done with him there.

"You know, Sammy, I was thinking - ."

He looked up at me, with his red eyes, red nose, and that little lip stuck out and quivering.

_"You want me go 'way?" _He whispered up at me. There was plenty of times I've hated myself, but none of them compared to how I felt about myself right then. I made a fast 180.

"I want you to _help _me. I was thinking I should set you up here so you can tell me if you think I put enough chocolate in the batter. Okay?"

He sniffed and nodded and let go of my leg to reach two quivering little arms up to me. I was planning to set him on the countertop, but like all of my plans with Sammy it seemed, Sammy had plans of his own. I'd no sooner lifted him up then I was locked in those arms and legs with no hope of getting him to let go, short of breaking his heart.

Well, hell. I'd rebuilt a whole transmission with a wrenched shoulder once. One-handed pancakes couldn't be that hard. While I stirred and poured and flipped, Sammy rested his head on my collarbone and sucked on his fingers and watched what I was doing.

I know my way around a pancake flipper, and ten minutes later we had a plateful of pancakes and nothing left to do but eat them.

"Okay, Sammy. We'll just get the butter and the syrup and have us some pancakes. What d'you say?"

For an answer, I got a soft little snore.

Little Sammy Winchester was asleep in my arms.

I put the plateful of pancakes into the fridge and carried Sammy to my davenport, thinking I could lay him down and tuck him in.

_When was I going to learn?_

I was just bending down to deposit my little bundle onto the cushions when Sammy roused. He sat back a little and blinked up at me.

"Uncle Bobby?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"You not going 'way, are you? You gonna stay with me, aren't you?"

Even if he didn't have me in a death grip, I wouldn't have been able to let him go.

"You bet I'm gonna sit with you. There isn't anything I'd rather do."

He sighed and tucked his head onto my collarbone again, and I sat down on the davenport with him in my arms.

I hoped Dean and John would sleep for a long, long while.

the end.


	4. Chapter 4

Sammy went under so deep, he didn't move a muscle when I stood up with him still in my arms to grab my papers and my phone to keep getting my work done. He stayed against my shoulder, his little arms more or less wrapped around my neck, dead sound asleep.

So, I got some research done, and a few phone calls made, and then for a little while, I just sat with Sammy on my lap and in my arms. I never used to understand the way John would look at the boys, when they were doing something together, off, away, not even looking at him. He'd look at them and his face would clear of all the stress and aggravation, and he'd look like a young father adoring his kids. Nothing more, but sure not one thing less.

I never got that feeling - until now. Of course, I never had a whole lotta chance before. Everything I ever got to see before of Sam was from the view over Dean's shoulder, never up close and personal. Because any other time they were here, Dean kept a close watch on Sammy, so that the kid was never on his own, never out of Dean's sight, and sure never alone with me, much less asleep in my arms.

Usually, I was happy that I never had kids. _Usually_. But this warm little bundle, his warm little hands around my neck, his heartbeat strong against mine, this little boy was making me wonder if I was going to _stay_ happy.

A creak of my floorboards made me look up, and I came face to face with Winchester Fury. _Dean_. Arms crossed, brow lowered, lip curled.

"_Why. Do you. Have. Sammy?" _He demanded it of me like he'd found me turning the tumblers on the Fort Knox vault.

"He came downstairs a couple hours ago."

_"He wasn't supposed to leave the room."_

"Well, then, I guess you shouldn't have told him to _go away_."

"I _didn't_ tell him to go away." Dean said, then he thought about it a little and his face fell. He dropped his arms and his scowl. "He was leaning over me and his knee was digging in my back," He explained as quiet as he could. "I just wanted him to get out of my back."

"Well, Sammy seemed to think you told him to go find another planet to live on. I never seen a heart broke into as many pieces as his was when he came downstairs. You can still see the puddle over there were he was crying his eyes out."

Dean turned and had himself a look, then turned back to me. He held his arms out.

"I'll take him back upstairs."

Well, I looked at Dean, and I looked at Sam, and I looked back at Dean.

"You're gonna carry him?"

"_Yeah_." He answered, short and simple, like I was asking an easy question. Then his eyebrows pulled together and his hands went on his hips and he glowered at me. "You think I _can't_?"

Right then I thought Dean could and would carry anything he wanted just because I told him he couldn't.

"I think you ain't been 100 percent the past twenty-four hours."

"_He. Belongs. With. Me."_

"You hear me saying otherwise?" I asked him. "Why don't you climb yourself up here on the davenport and I'll set him next to you. Then I can get you some breakfast or something."

He thought about it. He scowled a little and he thought about it. Then with a look on his face like I was asking something awfully awful from him, he climbed up onto the davenport and plunked his butt down with a '_there, happy now_?' attitude.

I pretended not to notice the silent lip.

When I shifted Sammy over, meaning to lay him down next to Dean, Dean lifted his arms up and took his little brother into his lap.

And just that fast, I missed the warm, heavy bundle.

I pretended not to notice that either.

"Now, if you're up to it, I got pancakes for breakfast."

"Did Sammy eat yet?"

"No, he fell asleep while we were making them. He hasn't had any breakfast yet."

"_He needs to eat right after he gets up."_ I was forcefully informed.

"And I woulda fed him if he'd stayed awake three minutes longer." I shot back. And when I got the death-glare, I added, "But I guess he was wore out from all the crying he did after you told him to go away."

If I hadn't been watching close, I mighta missed the flash-of-a-second drop of Dean's glare, it was there and gone just that quick. Then the glare was back, if a little less lethal.

"He needs to eat." I was told again, in a slightly less sharp tone.

"Well, give me a minute and I'll have the pancakes heated up for you."

"Sammy doesn't like butter on his pancakes."

"All right."

"I cut 'em for him."

"All right."

"Tell me when they're ready and I'll bring Sammy out."

"_All right." _I said it maybe crankier than I needed to, but I was getting a little bit tired of being bossed by this kid.

Or maybe I was just the teeniest bit sorry that now that Dean was back among the living, Sammy was gonna be back behind the barricade of his big brother.

I turned away, intending to head to the kitchen, when the little bundle woke himself up. He stretched his arms, nearly whacking Dean in the face, and yawned so wide I could see his tonsils. Then he blinked up and down and around and finally laid eyes on his brother.

"_Dean_!"

And then poor Dean got himself armed and kneed and elbowed as Sammy pivoted himself to be face to face with all the answers to all his prayers.

"Dean! You were sick and you didn't feel good and Daddy said to not make no noise so I played real quiet and you was sleeping and then Daddy was sleeping and then –"

Right just then, right when I figured all was right in Sammy's world again, he stopped babbling on and stared at Dean.

"You told me 'go 'way'." He accused.

"I did not. I told you to get your knee out of my back. You weren't supposed to leave the room."

Sam looked around himself like Dean was crazy.

"I _din_ leave the _room_." He insisted and I think Dean got it just as soon as I did.

"Sammy – 'don't leave the room' means don't leave the room, not don't leave the house."

That only seemed to deepen Sammy's confusion.

"What's a _house_?"

Dean rolled his eyes and grumbled. He pushed Sam off his lap onto the couch and pushed himself off the couch onto his feet.

"_This_ is a house." He said, gesturing around the room and to the hallway and kitchen outside the room. "Where our bed is, is the _room_. Anything outside of that is the _house. _You're not supposed to leave the _room."_

Sammy blinked. He blinked a lot and those fat tears rolled down his face again and that quivering lower lip pouted again.

"You told me _'go 'way'_." He accused his big brother in a whisper. And then just for good measure, he accused it again. Louder. _"You told me 'go 'way'!"_

"_Ugghhh_…Sammy – do I ever want you to go away from me?"

"Unh hunh…" Sammy nodded. "_Inna bafroom_." He was still weepy and miserable and his voice squeaked on that last word.

Dean rolled his eyes again and grumbled again and stomped himself out to my kitchen. Sammy climbed off the couch, scrubbing his eyes, and in his clothes-over-pajamas, he toddled himself out to the kitchen after his brother.

To be continued


End file.
